


silence

by tendereye



Category: Star Wars - All Media Types, Star Wars Sequel Trilogy
Genre: Alternate Universe - Modern Setting, Ambiguous/Open Ending, BDSM, Dark, Dark fic, Dom/sub, Dominant Ben Solo, Established Relationship, F/M, Free Use, Gray Fic, Submissive Rey (Star Wars), everything here is very consensual but, period sex (no blood mention), shoe licking, so:, speech control, the vibes are a little off ngl
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2021-01-29
Updated: 2021-01-29
Packaged: 2021-03-16 15:41:52
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,334
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/28958871
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/tendereye/pseuds/tendereye
Summary: Wear that smile of his, like he had a little secret. Work her mouth open with those massive fingers of his, lay them flat against her tongue. The time for conversation would be over and he’d just use her, keep her wide open.They still do that. She just doesn’t have to talk about her day anymore.
Relationships: Kylo Ren/Rey, Rey/Ben Solo, Rey/Ben Solo | Kylo Ren
Comments: 10
Kudos: 54
Collections: Kinkuary Prompt Challenge





	silence

**Author's Note:**

> posting this even though I was supposed to hang on to it bc it's Friday, and it has been a helluva week. I've never really written and certainly never posted anything quite like this, so your kindness and feedback on this little short thing is appreciated. (if you do, indeed feel like I've missed any major tags, lemme know.) 
> 
> also sneaking one more in for reylokinkuary, since I've never written speech control before! I hope you enjoy.

What she hadn’t expected, is the way her mind has gone quiet too. 

It used to bounce all the time. Bills and work schedule and course load and all of the messy horrible things Ben made go away.

He’d never been one much for chatter himself. In the days before the quiet, she couldn’t recall how many nights she’d sat on the floor, head at his knee going on about her day. He would stroke her hair. Her lips. Her chin. 

Wear that smile of his, like he had a little secret. Like he was indulging her and she really liked to be indulged. He would work her mouth open with those massive fingers of his, lay them flat against her tongue.

The time for conversation would be over and he’d just use her, keep her wide open. 

They still do that. She just doesn’t have to talk about her day anymore. 

  
  
  


They go to dinner at a place he knows is one of her favorites. It’s fancy enough to require a cocktail dress and heels, but they still serve good, real food and a dizzying array of cocktails. She tries a new one each time. 

He doesn’t even ask which one wants to try but she trusts that it will pair with whatever dinner he’s decided for her too. She just hopes it’s not a repeat.

Ben strokes her knuckles, as he tells her quietly about his day, recommends a book that she might like. She’s always been a voracious reader, with a bigger appetite for reading than even him. She might not come from much, but she’s always earned her way on her wit, her brain, her smarts. 

She can’t remember the last time she cracked a joke. 

At the next table over, there’s a date. Not a first. A second or an awkward third. Two people fumbling toward knowing each other. She smiles softly at him across the table. That had been them. Before. Before she’d moved into his home, the massive penthouse with the silken sheets and maid service and dinner delivered whenever she liked. 

Before the engagement ring on her finger. 

Before the first time he’d had her crawl to him across the expanse of the floor and kiss lipstick into the leather of his shoe tip. Before he made her clean it off with her tongue. Before the first time she’d called him Sir in public and felt her cheeks go red. He’d bought her a very expensive bag that day and brought her off in a dressing room and pumped her throat full of his cum that night. Rewards for good behavior. 

He squeezed her hand, a smile on his face, and his eyes tilted every so slightly towards the other table. It makes her feel old. No, _adult_. Like Ben.

Loved.

And the cocktail is brand new to the menu. 

  
  
  


After dinner he takes her home and tests her. Wet kisses down her spine and bites into the flesh of her ass cheeks and his mouth sucking at her cunt. 

Technically, she’s allowed to moan. Whine. Gasp. These feel involuntary, like breathing. She doesn’t. She lets her pleasure boil and build until she comes, open mouthed and _quiet_ , his tongue lapping her up. 

He has no trouble flipping her onto her back. “Good,” he tells her, wild-eyed. “Good girl.” 

But he fucks her like he’s angry, in that hurting that way she likes. She comes again. 

  
  
  
  
  


Breathing is how it started, really. How many times had he demanded she tell him: she doesn’t have a cunt, a mouth, an orgasm. Those are all his. Those belong to him now. 

Just like her every breath. 

That’s what he’d told her, with his hand around her throat, with his cock so deep inside her that it had become her whole world. That’s what he told her with their foreheads pressed together, pulling another, angry, reluctant orgasm from her. 

“Even your voice, even the words you speak belong to me.” 

She’d come wailing, she remembers that. She’d come so hard he laughed, and slapped her tits and laughed some more. 

  
  
  
  
  


It’s—it’s not that she’s stupid. She’s not stupid. She can count days. But it’s still _hard_ to remember the last time she opened her mouth and used her vocal cords. 

She’s started her period, and he does a lot of things but he prefers not to eat her out while she’s on it. She hears his keys in the door and pads out to him. She’s made him a drink—a Manhattan, he likes those, lately—and lets him kiss her cheek. His mouth is so soft. 

Rey gestures for him to follow her, and he does, hands at her hips and mouthing at her neck and biting her ears. The diamonds he nicks his teeth on used to belong to his mother. His family loves her. She should call his mother. Later. 

A trip to the ensuite bathroom has her returning to him, waving a box of liners. The only signal she’s come up with. 

The grin with the friendliness of a hungry animal spreads across his face as he looks at her. His hands are jammed in the pockets of his suit. His voice rumbles on at a low murmur that makes her stomach knot with anticipation: “Why didn’t you just text me, baby?” 

She must—she must look as stricken as she feels. It’s not like that’s part of the rules. Texting, email, letter writing. In theory it's all fair game. It’s all allowed. It’s just—when _was_ the last time she texted someone? Sent an email? 

Even the TV has started to feel too loud. 

“Didn’t think of it, huh?” 

Her pants slide down her legs easily under his touch. He’s strong. The line of one leg is bent, pressed against the wall. And when he shoves his cock in her, the other foot dangles. She’s probably inches away from feeling the carpet. The pictures on the wall are mounted well so when they rattle he’s hitting her deep and her toes curl into the open air.

“Silly baby,” he says. 

  
  
  
  


She told him, three months ago, when the trailer came out that she wanted to see this movie. Ben doesn’t forget things like that. He probably bought the tickets weeks ago, and made the dinner reservations right after. 

It’s good. As smart and interesting as she’d hoped. Shocking too. It kind of hurts her ears. Makes her squint. She likes the end best, walking out on his arm. He opens her door and she slides into the passenger seat, buttery leather holding her tight, and warming under her thighs. 

Ben’s palm folds down around her knee. His thumb fits into that natural divot in the bone. He could squeeze her until she popped. 

“So what did you think of the movie? I liked the ending. But you hate dream sequences, right?” 

She whips around to look at him, and he gives her the edge of a smile. It’s not mean though. It’s gentle. Sweet, even. Her mouth opens though, and nothing comes out. She can’t believe it’s been...two weeks? Two weeks already? Only? Is that what they agreed to? To try?

Fish-faced is how she looks, that what she sees in the reflection of the glass. Words, Rey, use your words. His voice is soothing as his palm slides up and down her thigh. 

“It’s okay, baby. I understand. It’s hard, huh?”

There’s space there for her to respond. Just a beat, half a beat, less but—

“What do you think?” he goes on. “Two more weeks?”

No. She’s applying for doctoral programs. There’s a list somewhere. Of calls she wants to handle. People she was meant to meet for drinks. Songs she was supposed to sing. 

But it also sounds kind of nice. Her mind is _so still_ . No bouncing. It’s _nice_. The city streaks by and her reflection has closed its mouth. 

Maybe she'll start with a whisper. 

Yeah, that. 

  
  


**Author's Note:**

> please come say hi on twitter! find me [@itstendereye](https://twitter.com/itstendereye)! (i'm new and I know very few people and absolutely nothing. help an old lady out.) 
> 
> also, working on some other things, so maybe subscribe if you'd like to read a valentine's day thing wherein Rey has big "this may as well happen" energy and meets Ben "chaos demon" Solo. And they fall in love, natch. the energy is a little bit more like: [maybe, possibly](https://archiveofourown.org/works/28924599), which you might enjoy!


End file.
